


Built For Two

by RhineGold



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, M/M, slavery/ownership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhineGold/pseuds/RhineGold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is wrong, in every way imaginable, cruel and twisted and as wicked as the things he’s long decried, but it is as exhilarating as hope and as sweet as victory. Baelfire is never coming home again, but for a moment, this is enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Built For Two

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the Once Kink Meme last season, directly after The Miller's Daughter aired. Someone else jumped in and wrote their own follow-up to it, and it sort of jangled me off of it, but I figured I should put it here for safekeeping.

After the whirlwind of activity, it is quiet in the shop. The Charmings are gone, back to their too-small apartment where there will be ugly questions and long conversations before Henry is retrieved.

Emma has gone with Regina, an arm around her shoulders and a sour look at the two of them that remain as she takes the sobbing queen to Storybrooke’s only funeral home.

And now there is silence in this little room while two strangers collect their thoughts.

"You must be happy now," The man who has become Neal Cassidy says, the acid in his tone unmistakable.

He keeps his own voice mild as milk, never lifting his gaze from his own reflection, distorted by the swirling script that bears his name. “Meaning?”

"Meaning you got what you wanted. Just like you always do. Saved your own skin and kept your precious magic."

It stings, but it’s deserved so he can’t really object. “Not always.” He looks up then, and there is the ghost of a young boy in the stranger before him’s face. “I don’t always get what I want,” He clarifies.

"Yeah, well," He snorts, wiping his hands on his jeans in a nervous, useless gesture. "Now you know how the rest of us feel."

"I never should have let you go," He murmurs softly, ignoring the bitter jibe. He looks down at the sleek, curved metal resting in his lap. "I ruined so much in doing so. It was never what I wanted, for either of us."

"I don’t care what you wanted."

"You’re right to be angry," He agrees calmly. "It’s only fair."

Shifting his weight, he slips the hilt of the dagger into his left palm in order to lean on his cane and push to his feet.

Neal looks up in surprise, and there is wariness in those brown eyes now.

Gold holds out the dagger, the angle of his shoulder making it a plaintive gesture. “Here. Take it.”

"What are you doing?" He asks numbly, staring at his face and not the knife.

"What I should have done, centuries ago. I’ve no right to it. I never made the right choices when it was mine. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, or come from me, Bae. You deserve it. Not me." His voice faulters then and he looks away finally, unable to keep that heavy gaze with the weight of tears smarting at his eyes. "…Never me."

And suddenly Neal is standing too, and the space seems far too small. “You don’t know,” he says raggedly, stepping closer still, so that their shoulders are pressed awkwardly, his mouth close to his father’s hair, “You don’t know the things I’ve thought of over the years. You don’t know the kinds of revenges I’ve planned, or the things I’ve wanted to do to you.”

"It doesn’t matter," He answers quietly. "Anything you like, anything you need to do. I’m here now. I know I wasn’t, when I should have been. But I’m here now."

And quite suddenly there is a hand clenching in his hair and he is being twisted and tilted back until their foreheads crash together roughly. He can feel Neal’s stubble on his cheek and the heat of his breath. His eyes are hard and endless as he looks down at the other man. “I don’t think you understand, Papa. The things I’ve wanted to do.”

He has always been a coward and it takes every ounce of nerve he possesses to meet his gaze - this boy he lost and failed and ruined. “…Anything you like,” He repeats breathlessly.

A hand closes over his, twisting the hilt of the dagger free from his slackening hold as the hand in his hair becomes a violent motion and his resulting cry is swallowed up in the other man’s mouth.

~*~

He’d been disgusted with himself for years.

What had started as an observation (the other boys his age, living in a loose network of support and information as they navigated the streets of the city alone, had often expressed a desire or a predilection) had turned to contemplation (it made sense, didn’t it? they’d all been abandoned by someone or another and craving a sort of approval, of acceptance, seemed like a way to bandage that wound). But soon he’d realized he wasn’t like most of the other boys on the street.

He didn’t want a ‘daddy’ to hold him and hug him and love him. Not like that. He wanted his father, his own father. And he wanted to hurt him.

He’s hurting him now, he knows objectively, but the other man isn’t complaining. Neal shifts his leg forward, pressing harder with his thigh, and Gold (it is impossible to think of him by any other name - not here, in this context), Gold rides up higher against him with a strangled sound. He straddles Neal’s leg with no small effort, the cane fallen forgotten in the floor. He is holding him up, under the arms, pressing him back against the wall again and again in a greedy, desperate rhythm.

Gold keeps his hands flat, knuckles pressed against the wall as best he can, the way he’s been told. He’s sure it’s the dagger doing most of the work, but he does seem eager and willing to appease (and please). He continues to rock back against the knee thrust hard between his thighs, squeezing his own knees on each movement. He keeps his eyes tightly closed, but there are tears in his lashes.

And it is everything Neal Cassidy has dreamt of, even as, somewhere, a spinner’s son wails in stunned horror inside him.

But that spinner’s son is lost, he reminds himself, was brutally released in a vortex of magic and selfishness, and so he is well within his rights to want to do this - to _need_ to do this. He takes the other man’s mouth with his own again, and Gold is returning the kiss desperately now, panting and keening against him in supplication and grief.

"I’m sorry… I’m sorry…" He is whispering brokenly and Neal lets his head slip down to rest against the hollow of his throat. For a moment, it’s a father’s kiss against his forehead, but he doesn’t want that, not now, maybe never again at this rate, and he drives his knee hard into that soft, yielding flesh. He can feel his shame in his cheeks and the tightening of muscles around his thighs and for a moment, he is falling again, his father’s cry echoing in his ears.

Neal Cassidy snarls against Gold’s throat as he grinds himself to completion between his legs. This is wrong, in every way imaginable, cruel and twisted and as wicked as the things he’s long decried, but it is as exhilarating as hope and as sweet as victory. Baelfire is never coming home again, but for a moment, this is enough.


End file.
